


in a letter.

by bittertofu



Series: thirty-five ways he said 'i love you.' [13]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 11:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11058195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittertofu/pseuds/bittertofu
Summary: Words only mean so much.





	in a letter.

**Author's Note:**

> a series of drabbles.
> 
> thank you all SO much for the comments and kudos, they lift my heart, they make me cry. they encourage me to keep writing this series! THANK YOU!!

Akira didn't talk to him for what felt like ages. No more than giving the necessary orders in Mementos and Sae's Palace, no more than making sure he was alright after each battle, as he did for everyone. Other than that, no more snarky remarks. No more suggestive comments. Akira didn't even look at him for longer than necessary.

It shouldn't have bothered Akechi as much as it did. Truth be told, though, there was little he hated more than being ignored. Unacknowledged. It grated at him like nothing else could.

Still, he kept his distance. Since their argument at the park, it's not as though Akechi was very keen on getting back into their usual give and take banter anyway. It didn't feel right. Not yet. They both needed some space.

In truth, it couldn't have been more than two days before Akira approached him at the station, arms crossed.

“You're sulking,” he said by way of greeting.

Akechi really should have been used to being side-winded by Akira by now, but this? He really didn't know what to do with _this_.

The only thing he could think to say in response was, “So are you.”

It was true, in any case. Usually, Akira smiled after every battle. Smiled at his teammates, smiled smugly by himself and rolled his shoulders as if winning was the easiest, most natural thing in the world. The past couple of days, though, his face had been a complete blank. His motions, while still deft, felt somewhat languid. Something was clearly bothering him, and not having anything else to go on, Akechi could only assume it had to do with their fight.

Akira sighed, looked to Morgana in his bag.

Morgana crawled out, jumped to the floor. “I'll...give you two some space,” he said, before dashing off to...somewhere.

Oh, no. Akechi did _not_ want to be alone with Akira again. Granted they were surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the station, but those people were all strangers. They wouldn't care what was said between two high school boys, especially since they were all hyper focused on getting to wherever they were going. Morgana, at least, would have been a witness. A presence to make Akechi monitor what came out of his mouth. Without that...well, who knew what he might say. Worse, who knew what Akira might say.

Akira ran a hand through his hair and gazed off to some point in the distance. Akechi waited, fidgeting with his briefcase. What else could he do? Walk off, he supposed, but that would very likely only make things worse. At the very least, he had to get along with Akira until his plan came to fruition.

“I didn't mean to...ignore you,” Akira mumbled. Akechi barely heard him. Tilted his head with a questioning smile. Akira said again, louder, “I didn't mean to ignore you. I just didn't know what to say.”

Well, that was a first. Akira, not knowing what to say. Akira, who had a comeback for everything. Akechi felt victorious, though he wasn't sure for what reason. It's not like he was the one who'd rendered Akira speechless.

“I don't know,” Akira went on, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don't know how to talk to you. No matter what I say, it's like...it's like you don't hear me. Like I'm talking to air.”

Cold ran sharp through Akechi's veins. Cold rose and lodged in his throat, choking him. Cold seized his heart.

He laughed lightly, folding his arms across his chest.

“I'm not sure what you mean,” Akechi said. “I hear everything you say loud and clear.”

“Do you?” Akira's piercing gaze froze him in place. “Do you hear _anything_?”

That wasn't fair. Akira's words were few and far between to begin with, and when he did speak, he spoke in riddles. In teasing jibes. Akechi heard all of it, but that didn't mean very much. There was nothing quite substantial about anything Akira said, just like there was nothing quite substantial about Akira.

Trying to control his trembling, Akechi spoke, low and sharp. “I hear what there is to hear. No more, no less.”

There it was again. The look of open hurt Akira had shown him at the park. The look so wounded, it made Akechi wonder why he'd bothered to open his mouth at all. He just couldn't make things right, it seemed. He was doomed to hurt Akira again and again and again.

Without warning, Akira stepped forward, closing the space between them. He slipped delicate arms around Akechi's waist, pulled him close, held him tight. Whispered against his ear something too quick and low for Akechi to register. And then he pulled away. And then he gave Akechi one final once over, as if trying to memorize every part of him, every feature, ever fiber of his soul.

Just like that, he was gone, vanished among the crowd.

Akechi couldn't focus on anything for the rest of the day. Classes were a blur. Work was a blur. If he ate anything at all, he couldn't remember. Probably he didn't. Not that he was hungry, anyway. No, the knot in his stomach was too tight, too deep, to leave room for anything else.

No call for Mementos after school. No call to explore Sae's Palace. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. The weight on his chest was a constant companion either way, the tingling in his limbs—his legs especially—a steady, certain buzz.

When he got home and took off his jacket, he was momentarily taken aback by the folded piece of paper that dropped to the floor. He certainly didn't remember filing anything away in his jacket pocket. He reached down and quickly tugged down the corners of the page, wondering what it was that he'd forgotten.

It was simple, blue and white notebook paper, lined with neat, angled handwriting cutting right across the center. The words were small, precise, yet they knocked the breath out of him like a punch.

_You are mine._

The note slipped out of his hands and fluttered to the floor.

 


End file.
